Music

For most rock and roll enthusiasts, names like “Elvis” and “Dylan” garner the kind of automatic veneration delegated to Mozart and Beethoven in classical circles. Indeed, popular music has certain heroes who seem to stand miles above their peers. But where do we draw the line between the true rock visionaries and the merely talented artists who follow their lead? Who deserves to be remembered for changing the course of modern music for years to come?

In 1983, Ahmet Ertegun was determined to settle the score. The Atlantic Records founder set out to establish a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, paying tribute to rock’s greatest performers and other important figures in the genre’s still-young history. By 1986, Ertegun and a committee of so-called rock experts were ready to honor the first class of inductees, ushering in an era of official recognition for achievement in rock and roll.

Recently, I was greeted with the chance to make a rock pilgrimage of sorts to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, Ohio. Being a self-professed popular music snob, I naturally approached this commercialized institution with some degree of suspicion. After all, could a panel of critics and label execs really be trusted to spell out the history of rock and roll in fair and accurate terms? Despite my cynical apprehensions, I found myself standing at the museum’s door fully ten minutes before opening time, making me the first over-excited idiot of the day to show up.

Inside, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is a veritable paradise for rock musicologists. With multimedia and artifacts representing every era of rock history, the museum offers a nerdy thrill a minute. Rare footage and objects from popular music legends abounds, as does written material that puts rock lore admirably in perspective. Even when interest in historical minutia begins to wane, it’s difficult to deny the entertainment value of the psychedelic paint job on Janis Joplin’s Porsche or David Bowie’s outrageous stage garb.

Although the museum pays tribute to current inductees and non-inductees alike, those who have been officially honored are enshrined in a video presentation that keeps the focus appropriately on their music. And though it certainly doesn’t hurt to be a multi-platinum megastar, it would be unfair to say that only the most commercially successful artists are candidates for induction. Rather, the primary criterion seems to be far-reaching influence; alternative rock pioneers such as the Velvet Underground and the Ramones have been admitted despite being relative commercial flops in their respective heydays.

In a musical culture so often defined by rebellion against capitalist institution, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame seems to have a sobering effect on its inductees. This, of course, is endlessly ironic because the Hall is as capitalistic and institutionalized as it gets. Yet, even performers with a history of public squabbles with the record industry, like Tom Petty and John Fogerty, have become gracious and enthusiastic acceptors of the honor. Indeed, the Hall of Fame has cultivated an air of legitimacy powerful enough to make many counterculture icons willingly accept a pat on the back from the man.

Not every honoree, however, has responded with such gratitude. When the Sex Pistols received word that they had been chosen as inductees for the Class of 2006, the legendary punks posted a hastily scrawled note on their website, declining to attend the induction ceremony and casting the Hall of Fame as a profiteering “piss stain.” That’s the spirit, lads.

The Sex Pistols’ attitude toward the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame has often been echoed by discriminating rock listeners who are offended by the notion of an “official” registry for artistic greatness. The idea of a “hall of fame,” these critics argue, should be reserved for fields such as professional sports, in which individuals can be ranked according to scores and statistics. Popular musicians, whose achievements are subjective and defy quantification, do not fit this mold. Therefore, opponents of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame say, there cannot and should not be any “final word” on who the true geniuses of rock are.

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame has also come under fire for its loose definition of “rock and roll,” which permits artists from non-rock genres such as jazz and hip hop to be inducted. This year’s induction of Madonna, alongside more traditional “rock” icons including John Mellencamp and the Ventures, drew harsh criticism from strict constructionists of rock. Previous controversial inductees have included hip hop pioneers Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five and jazz trumpet master Miles Davis. For many, it seems as though the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is degenerating into a disjointed who’s-who of music-biz celebrities.

In a sense, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was doomed from the start to be controversial. Whether or not it intends to do so, the institution seems to uphold its inductees as infallible deities. And in the community of self-proclaimed rock critics, nothing is sacred. Rock fans thrive on the thrill of a good argument, challenging prevailing views about greatness and influence and offering up their own takes.

Try asking some popular music nerds who started punk rock. Some will say the Ramones. Others will cite the MC5 or the Stooges. I say the Kinks and the Who had plenty to do with it. The beauty of an argument like this is that it has no definitive answer. The goal of having the discussion is less to prove a point than to probe the knowledge of fellow scholars and share some nuggets of rock lore. These arguments may uncover more common ground than new quarrels, but music nerds maintain just enough discrepancies to pick up the conversation right where it left off.

But what happens when you give a nerd the power to announce the names of rock’s geniuses to the world? My guess is that besides having millions of dollars and a museum at their disposal, the geeks who choose the inductees for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame are no different from the geeks found lingering in record stores around the world. They have their version of rock history, and I have mine.

Walking through the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was like picking the brain of a fellow rock enthusiast. I soaked up every song and story, whether or not I already knew it by heart. I nodded my approval when an exhibit struck just the right chord. I grimaced when things seemed to fall out of tune with my way of thinking. In those cases, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and I would have to agree to disagree. And by that measure, it was one of the best arguments I’ve ever had.

With Election Day fast approaching, undecided voters are scrambling to find the candidate with whom they have most in common. And while some desire to share no more than an energy policy or an immigration stance with the next president, others seek to “get to know” the candidates on a more personal level. Senators McCain and Obama know that if they want to connect with the voters, they should take some time out from political hardball to answer questions about the movies they watch, the teams they root for, and, most of all, the tunes they dig.

It’s no coincidence that when political banter veers toward more light-hearted fare, music tends to dominate the conversation. In a country of wide economic gaps and deep cultural subdivisions, an affinity for music is one common thread between all factions of American society. Even with the record industry in decline, Americans still consume music at a prodigious rate, and chattering about favorite musicians remains a national pastime. Any presidential hopeful who does not outwardly care about music risks appearing out of touch, even un-American. But in the heat of the electoral race, even a topic as innocent as music could turn controversial if the candidates fail to watch what they say.

Where musical leanings are concerned, Senator Obama has been the more forthcoming of the two major candidates. In a June interview for Rolling Stone, Obama said that his tastes are eclectic, ranging from jazz to folk to hip-hop. The senator lavished praise on a few of his musical heroes, but he avoided the appearance of having a single “favorite” genre. Whether or not Obama’s statements are genuine, they represent a politically savvy effort on his part to make himself more likeable to Americans of all musical creeds.

In the case of hip-hop, Obama seems acutely aware that his attitude toward the music could have a real impact on his public image. Given that most rap listeners are young and the most popular MCs are generally African American, an Obama endorsement of the genre would help play down concerns that he is not “cool enough” or “black enough.” However, he also runs the risk of alienating older voters, many of whom regard hip-hop as crass and offensive. In his Rolling Stone interview, Obama walked the line cautiously, citing Jay-Z as a favorite artist but also expressing concerns about inflammatory lyrics in hip-hop. “I am troubled sometimes by the misogyny and materialism of a lot of rap lyrics,” he lamented.

Senator Obama also tempered his enthusiasm for music with hints that while he may be a fan, he is hardly a fanatic. Talking about his affinity for Bob Dylan, Obama mentioned that he has “probably 30″ Dylan songs on his iPod. (This reporter has 234, counting live and alternate versions.) He also indicated that his iPod contains only one Dylan album, Blood On The Tracks, in its entirety. Music nerds may recoil at this news, but Obama seems more than happy to distance himself from those “elitist” snobs.

If Obama has been self-conscious and calculating in his statements on music, he is only willing to carry this tack so far. On his Facebook page, Obama lists Dylan, John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Stevie Wonder, Johann Sebastian Bach, and The Fugees as his favorite artists. This list may exude fine taste, but from a political standpoint it leaves much to be desired. Neglecting country music means a missed opportunity to appeal to southern voters, and Dylan’s peacenik image will only reinforce the fears of those who see Obama as “too liberal.”

One comment from Obama’s Rolling Stone interview was far more risky. Asked to name a favorite Dylan song, the senator picked “Maggie’s Farm,” a classic that marked the beginning of Dylan’s controversial switch from acoustic folk to electric rock. “It speaks to me as I listen to some of the political rhetoric,” Obama said of the song. To be sure, “Maggie’s Farm” is overtly political, and its lyrics are often interpreted as a rebuke to the capitalist institution. If Obama wants to improve his rapport with moderate voters, he would do well to clarify that he doesn’t take “Maggie’s Farm” as a call for socialism.

Senator McCain, while not as outspoken about music as his rival, did issue one bold proclamation: the dude bops to ABBA. True to his maverick persona, McCain has stood by the Swedish pop group since October 2007, when he told reporters in South Carolina that he does not subscribe to the “rank hypocrisy” of ABBA-bashers. “Nobody likes them, but they’ve sold more records than anybody in the history of the world, including The Beatles,” he said. The factuality of this statement is questionable at best, but Washington rhetoric is seldom immune to hyperbole.

If ABBA is not the best-selling of all music groups, it might be the most polarizing. While music snobs deplore the band as an embodiment of the 70s in all their glossy excess, droves of fans still revel in the effortlessly catchy songs. Many ABBA enthusiasts may prefer to lurk in the shadows, but someone must be buying up all those tickets for Mamma Mia!, the ABBA-themed hit musical that made the jump this year from Broadway stage to silver screen. McCain is taking a chance on ABBA Nation, hoping that his love of the group will please more voters than it offends.

McCain’s courageous declaration about his favorite group represents a departure from his fellow Republican, current President George W. Bush. Bush has usually played it safe when speaking about his favorite songs, picking simple classic rock hits like John Fogerty’s “Centerfield” and Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl.” Choices like these fit neatly into Bush’s self-styled image: down-to-earth, none-too-cerebral, All-American.

Meghan McCain, daughter of the Republican presidential nominee, appears to be looking out for dad’s best interests when it comes to publicizing his musical tastes. In January, she told MTV that her father does not listen only to “really old music,” but also enjoys younger artists such as Lauryn Hill. Ms. McCain issued this comment as part of a claim that her father, despite his age (72), is in touch with the American youth.

Although Senator McCain and Senator Obama seem to take pleasure in music, both men appear to lack any musical ability of their own. Several previous presidential candidates have been eager to show off their chops on an instrument, and have done so to mixed results. Former president Bill Clinton, for instance, scored points for likeability by playing the saxophone on national television during his 1992 campaign. Senator John Kerry tried to emulate the strategy in 2003, when he took up an electric guitar and joined a local Boston band onstage for a Bruce Springsteen cover. Unfortunately for the Kerry campaign, this move did little to negate the senator’s image as stuffy and pretentious.

Ultimately, the fact that neither McCain nor Obama openly plays an instrument may prove immaterial. The American electorate, by and large, is above the need for a rock star president. But the people do yearn for a president to whom they can relate, and, above all, whom they can trust. Whether or not they realize it, plenty of voters are more likely to have faith in a candidate whose musical tastes they can respect. If a record collection really is a window to the soul, the glimpses Senator McCain and Senator Obama give us could have real implications for how we see them as potential leaders.

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In Jewish culture and faith, this weeks marks Simchat Torah, the celebration of Judaism’s holy scripture. It is a special time of spiritual renewal, a chance to reaffirm one’s faith in God and His commandments. But to this Jewish teen, Simchat Torah has a more specific meaning: at my temple, it is the one time of year that affords us the opportunity to dance around the synagogue to Yiddish folk music.

It’s an opportunity I would gladly take, were I not otherwise engaged. But as a musician in the Westchester Klezmer Program, I am responsible for laying down the tunes that drive the high-spirited party. While the congregation dances and parades through the aisles with the Torah scrolls, we pound out the music of our Eastern European forefathers. It is called “klezmer,” a Yiddish word that means “vessel of song,” and it consists of wordless melodies – bulgars, freylekhs, horas, turkishers – meant to inspire dancing. Klezmer is not a religious form of music in the sense that Christian Gospel music is; rather than communicating a message about God, klezmer appeals to our sense of connection as Jews in the cultural sense. We’re all family here. Bring out the chair.

I’ve been involved with the Westchester Klezmer Program for the past five years, playing the acoustic guitar and the electric cello (there was a brief but memorable stint on the electric ukulele as well). It’s a motley crew that makes up our ranks, ranging in age from roughly eight to eighty and in skill level from beginners to concert soloists. We will play – and have played – just about anywhere: synagogues, private homes, libraries, hospitals and nursing homes have all been among our chosen venues. We shout out the Yiddish names of songs before we play them and let the grandmothers in the audience offer up a translation. We engage crowds in a two-word sing-along: “Oy Tate!” We once played a show on St. Patrick’s Day and opened with an Irish jig. If we can bring some smiles to faces Jewish and gentile alike – and do it with chutzpah – we can go home knowing our work is done.

Seldom does have anyone have more fun than the band members themselves. Having played with many of the same musicians for years, I have the benefit of old friendships. There are inside jokes, often at the expense of one another. There is gossip enough to fit the old Jewish stereotype. There’s even a welcoming (ok, hazing) ritual for new members at rehearsals: they must introduce themselves with their name, their synagogue, and their favorite Chinese food.

Often, those new members find themselves further confused by our strange practice methods. When we tackle a new piece of music, the process begins not with a written score but with each person’s ear. We listen to the tune as our bandleader plays it on the banjo, then sing the wordless melody aloud. And once we can sing it like it’s been engrained in out DNA for thousands of years, we move to our instruments feel for the notes. When sheet music finally does arrive, it is treated not as holy writ but as a mere reference, something that can be amended, rearranged and outright mangled at will. Once, we inserted an opening riff that pulled straight from the 007 theme music. The freewheeling approach doesn’t always lead to pleasant sounds, but it amounts to a kind of freedom that is anathema to the classical world.

What’s most important to us, as a musical group, is that we approach klezmer as the folk music it truly is. Folk music should live up to the promise of its title: it should not be dictated by some higher authority like a deified composer; it should be inspired by the spirit of ordinary people – the folks. Yes, that means a different approach to learning and performing music. But more importantly, it dictates how we think about our responsibility and our privilege as musicians. At its best and purest, klezmer – indeed, all folk music – is music without ulterior motive. When I play klezmer music, I know I’m not doing it to win over college admissions officers, to impress girls, or to sell records. I’m doing it to express a part of me that feels important and to help bring people together in celebration. That, if I do recall, is what music is about.

This week, I’m going to listen to what you have to say. Sort of.

Like all music aficionados, I take a certain pleasure in a good music argument. We may agree that Dylan ruled in the mid-60s and that Billy Joel can’t write a song to save his life, but let’s dig deeper into the gritty details of our respective tastes. Which is the greatest Beatles album? Was Marvin Gaye better with or without Tammi Terrell? Which of Eric Clapton’s many bands best represents his talents? (My answers: Rubber Soul, without, Derek and the Dominoes.) We, as nerds, buy just a bit too much stock in the idea that we can, and should, make small judgments about one another based on the ins and outs of our record collection. Truth be told, it’s fun, and those prepared for a verbal beating won’t suffer any permanent emotional damage. So let’s dive into it. I’ll call you a plebian neophyte, and you can call me a self-righteous snob. Sound fun?

I give credit where credit is due. Novelist Nick Hornby, author of the film-adapted novel High Fidelity, is responsible for the most effective device ever designed to start a music argument. The Top Five List, a format so limiting that it not only allows but requires heretical omissions, cuts straight to the core of our musical leanings. Here, I offer just a few of my lists, and I invite - indeed, challenge - everyone to tackle the same questions with their own lists. I look forward to exchanging verbal abuse.

Top Five Side One, Track Ones:
(This one is straight from High Fidelity. For those not vinyl-savvy, side one, track one is the first song on an album.)

5. “London Calling,” from The Clash’s London Calling
4. “Astral Weeks,” from Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks
3. “Like a Rolling Stone,” from Bob Dylan’s Highway 61 Revisited
2. “Come Together,” from The Beatles’ Abbey Road
1. “Gimme Shelter,” from The Rolling Stones’ Let It Bleed

Top Five Debut Albums:

5. Are You Experienced? - The Jimi Hendrix Experience
4. Greetings From Ashbury Park, N.J. - Bruce Springsteen
3. My Aim Is True - Elvis Costello
2. Funeral - Arcade Fire
1. Grace - Jeff Buckley

Top Five Guitar Solos on Studio Tracks:

5. “The Thrill Is Gone” - B.B. King
4. “Blue Sky” - The Allman Brothers Band (guitarists Dickey Betts and Duane Allman)
3. “Sultans of Swing” - Dire Straits (guitarist Mark Knopfler)
2. “Shoot Out The Lights” - Richard and Linda Thompson (guitarist Richard Thompson)
1. “Voodoo Child (Slight Return)” - The Jimi Hendrix Experience (guitarist Jimi Hendrix)

Jeff Zalesin

There is no greater insult to an artist’s integrity than the label of “sellout.” Lately, it seems that this shameful title has been applied to every artist that manages to break out of the underground scene and find mainstream success. Many of the music enthusiasts among us feel the need to distance themselves from anyone who sells too many records. As a result, it has become distinctly un-hip to embrace the popular artists of our time. The question: Is it fair to condemn an artist simply for becoming popular? Is it acceptable to explore a new musical style that may or may not result in more record sales? Are there still artists who make their names in popular music without conforming to the pressures of the business? Indeed, it may be time for all of us music freaks step back and reassess what constitutes a sellout.

Take, for example, the case of Green Day. Prior to 2004, the trio built a solid reputation for playing simple, standardized punk rock with an above-average sense of songcraft. Enter American Idiot. It was an ambitious concept album that explored post-9/11 America in the “rock opera” format first popularized by The Who. It was not a pure punk rock record, nor did it pretend to be. The new Green Day emerged as an energetic, intelligent pop-rock band with plenty to say about the world around them. While the general public ate it up, making American Idiot the band’s fastest-selling record ever, many punk purists went into mourning. The record was simply too catchy, too cleanly produced, and too popular for many fans of their established style. What’s worse, singles like “American Idiot” and “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” were abusively overplayed by radio and MTV until even the most loyal fans began to cringe. Before long, the name “Green Day” became synonymous with “sellout” for cynical listeners everywhere. What’s easiest to forget is that American Idiot is excellent on its own terms. The songs are as original as they are anthematic, both lyrically and sonically. And the supporting tour that followed was an electrifying and engaging spectacle of rock and roll. Take in the whole picture, and you’ll start to see a band that unfairly became a victim of its own success.

Green Day, of course, had the distinct misfortune of being not only a popular band, but a popular “punk” band. Hardcore fans of punk rock have an exceptionally low tolerance for those who dare sell too many records. The banishment of popular punk bands from their own community is not a new practice. Punk icons Bad Religion, for example, took heat for mixing punk energy with mainstream hooks in the late 80s. Even the legendary Clash angered many purists in the late 70s, when they began to polish their production and incorporate pop, reggae, and arena rock into their sound. It seems that the most devoted punk fans have always wanted to preserve their beloved style as it was conceived, without interference from the world of popular music. And anyone with the nerve to venture outside the boundaries of punk and explore that world can only be called a traitor.

Punk rock is not the only genre in which popularity is a taboo. Last year, the Decemberists expanded on their indie-folk sound to incorporate 70s-style rock, angering loyal indie fans. In 1991, fans of hardcore thrash-metal couldn’t choke down Metallica’s mainstream-infused “Black Album.” Even back in 1965, Bob Dylan’s switch from acoustic folk to electric blues-rock was greeted with violent rage from the folk community. And what do all these famous “sellouts” have in common? They all crossed genre lines into more widely popular styles, and paid the price with their original fan bases. It seems most likely that if these artists had played in the more popular style from the beginning, they never would have heard the cries of, “sellout!” After all, who ever thought of calling The Beatles “sellouts” for playing their melodic pop-rock? In their case, nothing else was ever expected because popular music was their indisputable core.

So, fellow music geeks, I ask you this question: when we judge an artist’s newest release, should we expect it to sound like the artist’s older work? Or should we take every album on its own terms, regardless of what came before it or how many copies it sells? Next time you open your mouth to call an artist a “sellout,” think twice about whether the title is fair. Unless you’re talking about Rod Stewart. Then it’s ok.